A second bullet ripped its way along the front mud guard, and then, with a kind of stupefying and unimaginable abruptness, the end came.
Colin was just conscious of a shower of sparks from beneath the steel-studded tires as the car in front of him swerved violently across the road.
By some instinctive movement his hand shot out toward the brake lever, and almost at the same second came a deafening and appalling crash that seemed to strike him in the face like a blow from a fist.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"That's done it," remarked the Inspector bitterly.
He was standing in the car which Colin had just pulled up, staring down over a heap of stones at the black mass of broken wreckage which reared itself fantastically amongst the grass.
"I should think it was about the finish," said Colin quietly. "What on earth made them skid in that extraordinary way?"
"I suppose I hit Fenton by mistake," said the Inspector. "Just like my cursed luck. He must have driven straight into it and gone clean over the top. It's a hundred to one they're both dead."
"We'll soon find out, anyhow," was Colin's answer, and, opening the door as he spoke, he jumped down into the roadway.